


Not Just a Great Lawyer

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: At the tender age of 21 Harvey Specter storms into the Chilton Hotel, prepared to do battle. His weapons of choice are a well-tailored suit and a briefcase full of cat hair.Written for Suits 100, prompt 85– “Role reversal: lawyer!Mike and dropout!Harvey.”





	Not Just a Great Lawyer

Mike Ross, Pearson-Hardman’s newest senior partner, is mildly bored by his associate interviews.

It’s not that he expected anyone to match him for sheer intellect, but there are other sorts of genius, other qualities that can catch his interest, and these cookie-cutter Harvard kids haven’t got any of them. He toys with the idea of asking Norma to screen them and kick the least promising out but hasn’t got the heart to actually do it, so he resigns himself to another six unremarkable interviews.

And if he starts replaying movies in his head every time a candidate starts reciting an obviously rehearsed answer– seriously, Mike recognizes one word for word from a years-old Glassdoor thread– who would blame him?

The second-to-last slot of the day is empty, so Mike busies himself with one of his current cases. He’s half-way through scanning a patent specification when there’s a knock on the door.

“Rick Sorkin?”

“Actually”—the door opens, and a man swaggers in—“I’m Harvey Specter, and I’m . . . You’re not Louis.”

Mike’s new to Pearson-Hardman’s office politics, but he never imagined someone would be upset to find him in a room instead of Louis Litt. Still, Harvey’s smirk is fading right in front of his eyes. Mike looks him up and down– he looks young, more like a college kid than a graduate of law school, yet he’s dressed in the smartest suit Mike’s seen today, his hair carefully slicked back, a briefcase in his hand.

“No, I’m Mike Ross. I know Louis is typically in charge of hiring junior lawyers and staff, but since these are interviews for my personal associate I asked to handle them myself.” He frowns for a moment, trying to identify why he knows Harvey’s name. “You’re not in my stack of resumes, though.”

“No, I’m not.” There’s something sharp in how he says it, though his expression has turned utterly impassive. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Ross. I’ll show myself out.”

As he turns to go, Mike remembers. “You’re from the mailroom, aren’t you?”

“Hang on–” Harvey whips back around with widened eyes– “the memory trick’s real?”

Mike stares for a moment and then bursts out laughing. “You sure you can’t stay for a couple minutes? I suspect you’re the most interesting visitor I’ve had all day.”

He offers his hand. Harvey considers it for a moment, shrugs, and advances to take it. The moment they touch, the latches on Harvey’s briefcase give out, dropping papers, photographs, and a baggie of cat hair around their feet.

Harvey doesn’t look down, doesn’t even blink. He just keeps his eyes on Mike’s and sighs, “I think I just proved it.”

* * *

“This is a solid case,” Mike remarks, poring over the affidavits and transcripts and other evidence that Harvey has arranged on the Chilton desk, “And it shows that he’s opened the firm to multiple workplace harassment suits. How come Jessica hasn’t squashed this behavior?”

“Because nobody tells her,” Harvey answers. “Harold and the other victims of Mr. Litt are understandably terrified of all the upper-level management in the firm, they’d never report anything he does. The reason they talked to me is that I’m basically the polar opposite of upper-level management.”

Mike touches a record, complete with pictures and a bag of the offending material, of Harold Gunderson’s ER visit following a near-fatal allergic reaction to cat hair, and he murmurs, “This kid could have died.”

“Yep. Everyone knows Louis is out of control, but nobody’s actually put together a case.”

“Except you.”

“Well, Louis would say a guy from the mailroom is nobody. Only thing he uses me for is being a fake associate.”

Mike blinks and looks up at Harvey. “What do you mean?”

“He planted me with the first-year associates when they started work, had me pretend to slack off on my assignments, and then he fake-fired me to scare the rest of them straight.”

“Jesus!”

“At least I got a good deal out of it,” he snorts. “He bought me this suit so I’d look the part, just before he reminded me that this was the closest I’ll ever get to being a real lawyer.“

Harvey says this matter-of-factly, as if it doesn’t phase him, but Mike still winces. “Why’d you go to the trouble of investigating him? This can’t have been easy to put together.”

“Would you believe it was out of the goodness of my heart?”

“Not for a second.”

"Why– because I tried to approach Louis with the case?”

“Yep. If you just wanted him to change his ways, you probably would have gone straight to Jessica, and you definitely wouldn’t have tried so hard to make sure all your key evidence could be admitted in court.”

"To be fair,” Harvey says, “I was actually going to ask him to stop nearly killing his coworkers.”

“Maybe, but that wasn’t your main goal. You were going to blackmail Louis into giving you something else.” Mike narrows his eyes as he figures it out. “A job. What position, though? Legal Document Services, secretary, librarian . . .”

“Paralegal.”

“Do you have official credentials? A degree in Paralegal Studies?”

“Didn’t finish college. What I do have, though, is the ability to interview even reluctant witnesses, and organize evidence, and figure out strategy, and find precedent,” he says, pointing to papers on the desk that demonstrate each skill. "I’ve also gotten pulled onto doc review before– long story, and I don’t think I can legally tell you most of it– and I got last year’s summer associate to pawn off frankly staggering amounts of his workload onto me.”

“That’s fairly impressive experience, for someone supposedly confined to the mailroom.”

“I’ve done a hell of a lot more in this firm than my job title would suggest,” Harvey declares, voice warm with pride. “Unfortunately, nobody rational is going to willingly hire a paralegal who didn’t finish college, so I figured I needed the blackmail to give Louis a kick in the pants.”

“And what if Louis heard this entire case, and then he just fired you anyway? Would you have threatened Jessica next?”

“I like being alive too much to try that,” he replies immediately. A few moments later, he adds, “I like Jessica too much, too. I’d have just turned the evidence over to her in the hopes that she’d somehow be impressed enough to hire me, and if not I’d go … and move on.”

There’s something earnest in his eyes as he says it, as he claims that he’d never actually make good on his bluff and sue the firm, and Mike wants to believe him. Still, he knows Harvey might only be backing down from that possibility because his master plan’s going awry right now.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Mike says, internally flinching as he takes a hard line, “because I’m not going to let you blackmail Jessica. Hell, I’m not going to even let you go back and blackmail Louis, though I do intend to let Jessica know of the complaints against him so she can deal with them. If you go against the firm to advance your own career, I can and will bury your suit and then bankrupt you with a countersuit.”

“You just said I had a solid case–” Harvey protests.

“–against most lawyers, sure, it’s solid. _I’ve_ already found six, no, seven ways to tear it apart.”

“What openings did I leave?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“You could just be bluffing.”

“You’ve heard about me, my ‘memory trick,’ as you called it. When it comes to sheer legal prowess, I don’t need to bluff.  And let’s just say the fact that you’ve explicitly put this forward for personal gain doesn’t do you any favors.”

Harvey doesn’t stumble or cower as Mike expected. Instead, he leans forward, apparently intrigued by the challenge. “If you’re going to turn Louis in, can I at least present the evidence to Jessica myself and ask for a job?”

Mike opens his mouth to answer that he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do in a situation like this, but then he notices at the clock. “It’s 4:02, where’s my actual interviewee?”

“Oh, about that . . . ” Harvey shifts in his seat, trying to put on a guilty expression and not quite succeeding. “I met with him earlier this morning and paid him not to show up.”

“What?” Mike splutters.

“I figured I might need the extra time with Louis, and anyway it’s not like Rick Sorkin was going to get the job.”

“Why– why would you possibly think that?”

“Well, if his GPA didn’t disqualify him, the fact that he settled for half of what I was willing to pay should.”

He says it so straightforwardly that Mike bursts out laughing. “I can’t believe I just heard that.”

“I can’t believe I walked into a fake job interview with a briefcase full of cat hair,” Harvey smirks, “yet here we are.”

Mike looks at him, takes a deep breath, and then shakes his head. “Really though, what am I missing here?”

“What do you mean?”

"You’re obviously smart, motivated, good with people– maybe too good– and the fact that you’re in the mailroom suggests you’re also detail-oriented and well-organized.”

“So how does someone like me end up a deadbeat dropout?”

“I was going to phrase it more delicately,” he grimaces, “but yeah.”

Harvey’s jaw tightens, like Mike’s genuinely caught him off-guard for the first time. “Look, I wanna get places on the strength of my skill and intellect, not because I have a good sob story.”

“You sure about that? I’ve been told I’m a pushover for sob stories.”

“Oh, yeah, you are. You actually cared about Harold Gunderson, which is not something anyone else in this city has managed.”

"I especially like sob stories where people face despair and horror and pain and come out on top. I like stories about the human spirit–” he pauses– “and something tells me you’ve got an awful lot of spirit.”

Harvey watches him for a second. “Tragic backstory it is, then. I’ll give you the short version. My dad died last year, when I was twenty.”

Though Mike doesn’t say anything, something softens in his eyes, and all of the sudden the words come more easily to Harvey. “I was just starting my junior year of college, on a partial scholarship, and there was just enough money to make things work. Then my little brother got diagnosed with cancer.” Something gives in Harvey’s poker face, and his frustration bleeds through as he continues, “The insurance premiums shot up, but we have to pay them somehow. My mom’s an art teacher, we can’t afford it on her salary, so I needed to get more money immediately. I dropped out, started working in the mailroom. Not what I wanted out of life, but I’m not going to sacrifice Marcus just for some degree.”

“Can you explain to me how the paralegal job fits into this?” Mike asks, gently as he can.

“I can’t pay all my bills on the mailroom job for much longer. Either I get something better here, or I quit and work retail and wait tables 16 hours a day.” When Mike raises an eyebrow, he adds, “Anything’s possible with enough Red Bull.”

“So you want the paralegal job primarily for the money?”

"Pearson-Hardman does pay its paralegals pretty damn well, but that’s not the main appeal.” Harvey takes a deep breath before admitting, “I ended up working here in the first place because I wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Wanted or want?”

“Want.” He straightens up and raises his chin as he says it, no doubt or hesitation in his voice.

There’s a moment of silence.

Then Mike remarks,  "Did you know I’m admitted to practice in nine jurisdictions? New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, California, all four New York district courts and the second circuit. I’m also a member of the patent bar, but I can never decide how to count that.“

He sees Harvey’s initial confusion at the subject change, and then he sees that confusion morph into amazement. “Whoa– why?”

"I don’t mind tests, and it’s convenient to be admitted everywhere in this area. I took New York’s bar exam right out of law school, New Jersey’s exam wasn’t hard to pass a couple years later, and I was admitted into the Connecticut bar–”

“–on motion, because you already got in with New York,” Harvey finishes. “Why California, though?”

“California just looks nice on a resume.”

“You took the California bar because it looks nice on a resume,” he deadpans.

“Yep,” Mike says, smacking his lips on the “p” before murmuring, “I’ve been in good standing with them for . . . oh, five years, now.”

He says it quietly, casually, but Harvey’s eyes widen. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

“Depends. What do you think I’m talking about?”

“Division 1, Chapter 3, Rule 4.29 of the Admissions and Educational Standards of the California Bar.”

Their eyes meet, and suddenly Mike can’t repress a grin. “Per Rule 4.26, an aspiring lawyer can skip formal law school and instead enter the California bar by studying the law diligently and in good faith in a law office. Per Rule 4.29, Section B, the attorney with whom the applicant is studying must be admitted to the active practice of law in California and be in good standing for a minimum of five years.” He considers stopping there, but Harvey’s gazing at him like he’s walking on water and he decides to indulge and show off further. “He must also personally supervise the applicant at least five hours a week, examine the applicant at least once a month on study completed the previous month, and report to the committee on the number of hours the applicant studied each week, on the books and other materials studied, etc. etc.”

“You’d be willing to do that for me?”

“Hey, it wouldn’t just be hard on me,” Mike warns him. “This would be hard work. Long hours. Longer than usual when you throw in the studying, which I doubt either of us can count towards our billable hours targets, no matter how many loopholes we use.”

“You give me this chance,” Harvey replies, eyes bright and serious, “I will work to school those Harvard associates and be the best lawyer—law student—mentee you’ve ever seen.”

“You’d be a paralegal, my dedicated paralegal. If Jessica somehow approves this,” Mike says, pulling a face, “which somehow I really doubt . . .”

“Hey,” Harvey cuts in, “you’re a lateral hire, and an amazing one, too— I’ve seen the press releases. Jessica wants to show you off and keep you here, which means she wants to make you happy. Knowing Louis, she probably had to threaten to fire him to get you control of these interviews today, there’s no way he gave these up easily, and that already demonstrates that she’s giving you a lot of leeway.”

Mike furrows his brow. “I don’t want to take advantage of her—“

“So frame it as advantageous to her.”

“How do I do that?”

“First-year associates are utterly incompetent, you know that?”

“. . . I’m aware of this fact, yes.”

“Even the ones from Harvard, they by and large have no idea what they’re doing in a real corporate setting. I’m already better adjusted than a lot of them, with more applicable work experience, and that should make up for the fact that I’m not as familiar with law. All in all, you’re getting someone only slightly more useless than a first-year associate—“

“And at half the price, even when you account for my lost productivity.”

“Exactly. And if she still complains, just offer to take on some pro bono case as punishment.”

Mike squints at him, confused. “But . . . I like pro bono cases.”

Harvey just gapes back at him before groaning, “ _Please_ tell me you didn’t tell her that.”

“No, it hasn’t come up–”

“Good. Do tons of pro bono, but make her think you hate it and that you only do it to curry favour with her. She’ll love you forever.”

Mike leans back in his chair, chuckling. “Do you know why I’m hiring you?”

“I can make an educated guess.”

“Hit me.”

“You have two main reasons. First of all, I’m the only person you’ve talked today who hasn’t bored you out of your mind. Second, you love my sob story.”

“Both true—though how you manage to make the fact that I care about your family sound pathetic is beyond me—but there’s a third reason. I think you’re going to be a lawyer whether I help you or not.”

“That’s pretty unlikely—”

“Yeah, but you seem like someone who gets what he wants, hell with the odds.” Harvey smiles as he says it, and Mike knows he’s read him right. “And going by your investigation, and your deal with Rick Sorkin, and your advice on how to break this to Jessica, you’re going to be a great lawyer.”

He pauses, but for once the kid stays quiet, waiting.

“But,” Mike continues, “it seems to me like someone told you, at some point, that it’s not okay to deal kindly with people or to care. And so, for the public good, I think I should make sure that you become not just a great lawyer—“

“But a good one.”

“Yep. That’s why I don’t just want you strong-arming Jessica into letting you work for the firm, I want you working under _me_ , and training to be as capable and ethical a lawyer as possible. That means, incidentally, that you’ll be assisting me on all my many, _many_ pro bono cases.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Harvey says. He doesn’t put much effort into disguising the sarcasm.

Mike just laughs. “Well then, I’m emailing the firm I just found my new assistant.”

**Author's Note:**

> See, on the one hand, I have three other WIPs clamoring for attention. On the other hand, I have a lot of feels about how this AU could evolve over time. Ah, the life of a fic writer.


End file.
